Don't Cry For Me, Argentina

The last few weeks have been rigorous. Between an insane work schedule, holidays, family expectations, and heartache, my immune system crashed, and I woke up this morning with shingles. I have had small outbreaks of shingles before, during times of stress and while recovering from other things, like pneumonia. This will be the second new year's eve that I will spend quarantined in my home because of the ailment. So now that I have no choice but to stay home and get rest, I finally have time to write the blog entry that's been flitting around in my head.
Since my last blog entry, I did speak with Tony. It turned out that it was just as he said: he had a lot to deal with. His ex girlfriend of eight years had been showing up and wreaking havoc. We continued to get to know each other, and I continued to fall for him, and then something happened. I completely lost it.
I swear, there are certain men that are put on this earth specifically to drive women crazy, and turn us into sniveling, wimpy psychopaths, willing to do anything for a few slight moments of conversation. Tony's style of communicating had started making me nuts from a few weeks ago, as it was always on his terms, and at his convenience. We had planned a date, which he confirmed from the night before, and which I had spent every extra minute I had had for days cleaning and preparing for it. I got three hours of sleep the night before the date because I would be seeing him directly after work and needed whatever time I had left to clean and prep myself. While at work that day, I received a text message from him, cancelling the date. He had a men's group meeting that he had forgotten about. While I understood this, and accepted it, it still REALLY sucked being on my end.
It turns out that I never got over that, though I tried. We talked a few times after, but then ended up having one blowout conversation that ended it all. Too be fair to myself, he said a few things that I could not put up with, nor should I. It came down to him stating that things were always going to come up - a sentiment that I had dealt with many times before from my fighter and my cop. A sentiment that I have come to understand as "you will never be important enough to me to come first, or even second, to whatever the wind blows at me." I have been there, done that, and don't need to deal with it again. Because I am important to me. He then also pointed out that "well, YOU'RE not a parent, but as a parent, I have come to understand..." And that's when I hung up on him.
Being a woman in my 30's, desperate to have children, having to consider different options in order to be with him because he has four kids and refuses to have more, it was the last thing in the world I needed to put up with from him. If every argument we have ends with him rubbing that in my face, well, I have better men I could be doing. Not that this prevented me from trying to call and text him several times to fix the emotional hang up that happened when I had been on 4 hours of sleep each night for weeks, had been working twelve hour days, and hadn't had a day off in God knows when, all of which he knew. Yet, somehow, I was trying to make up for being "wrong" for hanging up when he said something that offended and upset me to the core. And yet, I still forgave the fact that he broke up with me over text, and was too pussy to have a conversation with me in person or over the phone about it.
And now? Broken hearted, alone again, and still searching, what have I found? Myself. Or at least glimpses of it. There are still men that are interested in me, and I hang out with them when I want to, but I needed more than basing my enjoyment off of someone else. I needed to listen to show tunes. I needed to sing Madonna at the top of my lungs. I needed to remember what is worth fighting for - and what I would willingly give things up for in that fight. I needed to remember Absolutely Fabulous, and enjoy my best friends. I needed to write, draw, and paint. I needed to have sex, just outright sex with someone(s), and just enjoy it, if that's what took my fancy. I needed to stop feeling bad if I wasn't interested in someone that is interested in me. I needed to eat chocolate, drink wine, and go out with the guys.
And you know what all this has come to? I feel better about everything on the whole, because no matter what happens, I am me. I am not broken. My heart still beats. I'm stronger for it.

Another One Bites The Dust.

Since my last entry, I took a slight break from dating, until I felt comfortable enough to deal with meeting strangers again. Obviously, it didn't take too long. Hope springs eternal, as does idiocy. At the time I took the break, I had been in conversations with a couple of men, and over a few weeks time, I felt comfortable getting to know each of them better.
The first, Melvin, an engineer, is a sweet man with a gentle heart. He is my same age, never been married, and would like to have a family. It sounds like everything I should want. Upon getting to know him, I found that he is incredibly sweet, but there were a few things that bothered me profoundly. It turns out that at this point in my life, I would prefer to be with someone a bit older than me, a realization I hadn't come to before now. He also unknowingly says things that come off as condescending, like asking me if I made it to work on my first day with my new job. With over 27 years of successful work experience, including 13 years in management, this simple question completely discredited my entire history. He also started making statements toward the inevitability of us having to move for him to continue working, and we were not even in an actual relationship yet, let alone considering moving in together. Within two weeks of dating, he invited me out to Florida, where he was going to spend time with his mom. He also started making plans for us for a year from now, as well as started texting me several times a day. It was just too much.
The saddest thing is, the one thing that probably got to me the most is that he has a childlike voice. When he cracks jokes, he spins that voice to be even more baby-like, thinking that it somehow makes it funnier. While the last thing I want to hear is a childlike voice from a man while we are intimate, the jokes, especially, disturbed me to the core.
The other man I started to date, Tony, is the complete opposite, of course. He is also a professional, but in a burgeoning market. He and his friend run one of the biggest cannabis distributors in Washington. Now that recreational use is legal in the state, it is a wise business venture. It also makes him somewhat of a glorified drug dealer, I guess, but with better clothes, and legitimate business plans. He has been married before, has four kids, and has been fixed. While he is not against getting married again, he never intends to have any more kids, though he is fine if I have kids on my own. And even that is doable, especially with gay male friends wanting a child as well. My own personal version of Modern Family.
Tony is a few years older than me, sincere, funny, and has a good heart and sense of responsibility. He is also generally unavailable, which I love. I wouldn't get off work to find seven messages questioning how my day was, and whether things were okay. I would receive a phone call and/or text message every few days as his schedule between work and his kids permit, and I felt blessed for each and every one. They definitely weren't in a baby voice. When we were intimate, he growled. It was the sexiest thing I had ever heard. His kisses made me melt. And he held me. Not after, but during. With strong arms, and a protective gentleness that was unlike anything I had ever experienced. Ever.
I fell like a rock from the acropolis. There was no saving me.
And like a rock from the acropolis, I have now been left just sitting, a shadow of what I could be, waiting for some tourist, some dude, to pick me up and carry me away to keep as a souvenir.
When I fell so hard for Tony, I stopped responding to Melvin. He finally wrote me, asking if he did something wrong. I felt horrible about that, as he really hadn't done anything wrong outside of put too much stock in something that I couldn't see through. I wrote him back and let him know that I was dealing with a lot (which I am), and that it wasn't fair to him, and that I was sorry. He was very sweet about the whole thing, asking if he could help.
Yesterday I received a message from Tony stating that he had been bad with communicating with me lately, and that he is dealing with a lot, and that he is sorry. Broken hearted, I told him to take the time he needed and contact me when/if he wanted to.
And then I didn't sleep. Not for hours. I really liked him, and receiving almost exactly the same blow off that I had given to Melvin just killed me. Now, granted, I could be completely mistaken, and dudes are dudes, and when they say shit, you can't read into it because they aren't as complicated as women. If they say they are dealing with something, it could mean just that. But that is not what my gut is telling me in this situation. My instincts tell me that he just isn't that into me. Even when I liked him so much that I tried to figure out the whole baby thing, that I still won't end up with the first man I have really felt a connection with in a long time. I'm the Melvin here, and it has shocked me to the core, and broken my heart. But not without humiliation. Because I stupidly sent him another text this morning outright asking, out of fairness, if he was at all interested still, as I'd rather know if I should move on from now. Because I am a dumb girl. And a stupid rock. A dumb stupid girl rock.

Back To The Drawing Board.

I started this blog with the intention of being honest and forthright. I wanted to take a personal look at the life of a thirtysomething single girl, and use humor and wit to make a frustrating situation more palpable. I was hoping to make other single women know that they are not alone in what they face and deal with, and for me to learn something along the way.
I have been torn about whether or not to write about a recent incident in my life, because it was a horrible experience that is difficult to downplay with laughs. I have decided to write about it as best I can, as I know that I am not alone, and neither are those that read this. I apologize that this entry is a bit darker than what I usually write, but it is true.
I had met a man from a singles site, and he and I got along really well. He works with youth like I do, and is right around the same age. He is currently in school so that he can eventually become a teacher, while he is leading an after school program towards leadership. Our love of youth was one of the things that caught our interest in each other. After chatting online for awhile, we eventually started talking on the phone for hours. He had a dry wit that made me laugh, and he found my laughter contagious. The chemistry was noticeable. Finally we decided to meet in person. Earlier this week he invited me to a steakhouse located halfway between our two cities. We had a blast during dinner, which he paid for. He said some outlandish things about sex so straight faced that he got me laughing so hard I almost peed my pants. After dinner he walked me to my car, and hugged me. He wasn't feeling well while I'm hoping to get hired at a new job next week, and I didn't want to catch anything so no kissing.
Over the next few days, I didn't hear much from him. Almost all communication had dropped off, whereas we had been talking for hours before we met. It has been awhile since I had dated anyone even semi-seriously, and I really liked him. I was really bummed. Then yesterday I relented, and texted him in between his class and work schedule. He mentioned that he had been extremely busy, but that he wants me. He said it outright in a text, no hiding behind anything. He was planning on going away for the weekend, and yesterday was (hopefully) going to be my last weekday without work for awhile, so I threw caution to the wind and drove the hour to see him after he invited me to. I had been needing physical contact for awhile, especially cuddling, and we had such great chemistry that I knew it was going to be great.
When I finally got there, I knocked on the door, and heard an ominous "it's open, come in". That sent my nerves on their guard immediately. It seemed rude that I drove an hour and he couldn't even come to the door. I didn't feel any better when I opened the door and he was sitting on his couch in his underwear. Even if we both had the intention to play a little bit - he had already told me he was celibate, so fiddling was going to be the extent of it, it still seemed like he would have at least gone through the motion of putting on pants for me. We cuddled up for a bit and talked, and then he started pushing my head downward. He mentioned how much he enjoyed getting kissed down there. Mind you, we had never kissed on the mouth as of yet. I told him that I prefer to get kissed prior to anything, so he at least condescended to kissing me.
It just got worse from there. Though we didn't actually have intercourse, what he did left me bruised, battered, and humiliated. I was actually in tears, pushing him off me at one point. When I told him what I had issues with, he explained that he is aggressive. There is a huge difference between aggression and manhandling a woman and degrading her. I rinsed off in his shower before leaving, because I couldn't imagine driving for an hour with the feel of that man's touch on me. On my way home, I drove through a fast food joint and ordered a large meal and a shake, in order to have something to focus on rather than what had just happened. When I got home, I took another shower - sitting on the edge of the tub, my head in my hands, with the water pouring all over me. I just felt violated, used, and debased. On top of it all, I was crushed. I had really liked him, and hoped something would happen there. I'm still having a hard time putting together the facts that the guy that was so great is in actuality so horrible.
The good thing about all of this is Persephone, my best friend that I have been estranged from for several months. I absolutely love Perse, but I have had an extremely tough summer. I couldn't handle more problems than what was completely necessary. It meant that I had to distance myself from a few friends over the last few months, including Perse. After what happened yesterday, though, I desperately needed someone that I could talk about it with frankly, including the lurid details. The only friend that I have that would not only listen to the whole thing and give good advice, but also wouldn't be uncomfortable doing so, and would even commiserate is Perse. We talked last night for awhile, and it felt really good. And today, while I have still been in an awful funk (I actually turned down a date with a gorgeous man tonight solely because I couldn't fathom talking to any man today) Perse has been making me laugh and making me feel human. God bless her. No matter how bad the situation is, it helps to have a friend help lead you through when you can't do it yourself.

Writing My Own Rules

In the last few months that I've been unemployed, I've had a lot more time to get to know some new men. In doing so, I've met some really good guys, and some not so good guys. As a person that seeks comfort with what I know from experience, I have also had the urge to get in touch with a few old flames, primarily for distraction, but also because it has been an incredibly tough few months. A new acquaintance cannot offer the same intimacy and understanding that a person from my past can offer. But I have fought the urge to contact my old flames, and have generally succeeded in staying away from devices like my phone, computer, and smoke signal that would allow me to do so. The reason for this is my first, and most important, dating rule that I have imposed on myself.
1. I cannot find my future if I keep living in my past.
This rule is important for two reasons:
a.) I need to let them live their lives. One of the men that I keep wanting to run to is my ex with all the kids and baby mommas. Last I heard from him, he definitely wasn't happy with the child, I mean girlfriend, he was with, but they have a baby together, and so he needed to stay with her, healthy or not. He and I spent a bit of time together off and on several months ago, seeking comfort and someone that gets our sense of humor, eventhough he had his girlfriend at home. This made a mockery of both our lives. It was nothing like the love we had, not even a dim reflection of it. That's gone, and frankly, it's never coming back. It was primarily physical, and even that wasn't that good. It was like getting a teeth cleaning. I have a more sensual time at the spa with my massage therapist. Obviously, this was really doing nothing for either of us. And the more I contacted him, the more I was destroying his life and that of his child.
b.) I need to let go. If these distractions were at all good for me, I would still be with them. One of the men I keep wanting to contact is the fighter. The fighter who was always gone, who brought out the worst in me, who condescended to me often, who most likely cheated on me, and who talked about slapping me around like it was nothing. Don't get me wrong, we had fun, and we really cared for each other, but obviously it was not a healthy relationship, and definitely not someone that I should be around. There is a reason he is not in my life. I need to recognize and respect that. Otherwise I'm more of a dumbshit than he ever told me I was.
Which brings me to the second rule:
2. Not every man worth meeting is worth keeping.
This rule sounds like common sense, but most women, at least those that I know, will keep someone around that they're not that into if there isn't someone that they are into. It's nice to have a companion when you would like to get out of the house, I get that. I'm not talking about decent guys that don't have that zing that makes your heart jump up your throat and choke you just because they looked at you. The guys that are smart, fun, reliable dudes who treat you with respect should be kept around. Spend time with them and get to know them. Things may develop with them, and if not, at least you do have someone fun to do things with. That's what dating is. The ones I am talking about are the ones that don't respect you, and are stupid for it.
I went on a date not long ago with a man that has a very reliable, somewhat glamorous and high earning position with a major company in the area. He has a swanky flat downtown, and owns several pieces of property. He is somewhat funny, and not unattractive. The date wasn't horrible, but he made mention a few times that I am a bit bigger than the girls that he usually dates. He also made sure that I knew that he had a "hair" fetish. During the date and over the course of a few phone calls and text conversations, he questioned me on my diet, my workouts, and requested that I lose weight "for him". He also requested that I get none of my body hair waxed or removed. I'm a Greek woman. If I don't take care of my body hair, it will grow out and suffocate me. He had no qualms demanding that I alter myself and my comfort for his desires, and I was barely interested in him in the first place. I eventually told him to shove it. He either needed to get over his issues, or refrain from contacting me. During the course of the last month, I once or twice thought about contacting him to see how he is doing, but I stopped myself. I was done with guys like him ages ago. I'm not looking back. I found out that he tried to contact me a couple of weeks ago, and upon seeing that, I still had the same gut response: he can shove it.
And the last rule for today's lesson:
3. Be completely, absolutely, unforgivingly myself, and love it.
I will never apologize for being me. My weight fluctuates - I have learned to love it. I like the work it takes to lose weight, and the way I can visibly see myself heal from what ever emotional incident caused the weight gain in the first place. I love that I work hard, that I speak my mind, that I fight for equality, and that I can still cuddle with those I care about. I love to cook, even when I mess up. I love to paint, and I love what the fruits of that labor brings, even if they are emotional paintings that aren't always pretty. I love that I am career minded and unwilling to be less so that I can make some man feel like he is more. I love to work with kids and animals, and to care for those that I come in contact with. I'm an amazing, kick ass, righteous babe, and anyone that is intimidated or uninterested in me can blow it out their ass. I'm also cute, too.
Having these three very basic rules in hand hasn't made dating easier, not at all, but they have made me look forward rather than back, and they have also helped me to recognize that when someone points out faults they believe I have, it's usually because they are unwilling to acknowledge and love the ones they see in themselves. If they can't love their own imperfections, they will never love mine, and my imperfections deserve to be loved.

Man Whores And The Friends That Date Them

Several years ago I somehow allowed myself to become completely entranced by Jaba The Hut, well by his human counterpart to be exact. I had been cajoled into going to a country karaoke bar on a weekly basis by Stacey, as her boyfriend and his group of friends were frequenting it. I never cared overly much for the group of friends, but still wanted to be able to hang out with my best friend, so every week I found myself singing Sweet Home Alabama on the little stage at the western dive bar. Eventually, I started to make my own friends there with the regular bargoers, as I wasn't happy with the bulk of the company that I was there with.
It started with Henny, the door girl that checked IDs and kept the capacity count. She and I became fast friends. I chatted her up to keep her from her boredom, and she kept an eye out for me. She would let me know of any good looking men that came in without dates. I had become adept at befriending bouncers and door girls early on, for security and "hunting" purposes. Henny introduced me to a lot of her friends that were always there, and eventually I found myself going to the bar weekly on my own long after Stacey's group stopped going. I could be myself there, even if I was different than everyone else. As long as I accepted them, they accepted me warmly. I had found my friends in low places, and though I was happily along for the ride, I had no way of fathoming what that ride would be.
A few weeks in, while Stacey was still with me, we met a beautiful girl that was at the bar by herself. She was outgoing, friendly, smart, and a bit on the motherly side. You could tell that she sincerely cared for every person she met. The three of us struck up a conversation, and spent most of the evening dancing together. A week later, we saw her slow dancing with one of the regular guys there. He was a bigger guy that worked as a part time bouncer at a couple of bars in the outlaying area. I hadn't met him yet, but I was really impressed that he was dancing with our friend. Though she is beautiful, most guys in the bar would pass her by for the younger girls with no personality and taut bodies. To me, this guy dancing with my friend showed that he was above that. The next week I was in, I saw him dancing, and though he was a big guy, he was quite graceful. Looking back now, he looked like a giant dancing bear, but that's beside the point. Not thinking much of it, I complimented him on his dancing. Gawd, I wish I could take that back.
He introduced himself to me as Big Daddy Roy. Later that night he asked me out. It turned out that he wasn't in a relationship with our friend, they had just gone out once or twice. I was a little flabbergasted, but accepted the date. BDR came over to play board games and watch a movie. It wasn't horrible, but it wasn't great either. This being during my mid twenties, the first date pretty quickly ended up in the bedroom, where he had performance issues. The pressure he put on himself to impress me caused utter failure instead. I felt pity for the guy. So much pity that I accepted another date with him.
On the second date we went to see a movie. He spent the evening trying to impress me with his horrible scary driving, and telling crappy jokes about lottery tickets to the sales girl at the concession stand. The date wasn't well at all. That night, once again, I took a bit of pity, and we ended up in the bedroom. It was a bit more successful this time, though I found out that while BDR was a big guy, he wasn't a "big" guy.
And that is where my memory becomes unclear. Somehow we had two horrible dates and nothing that wonderful happened in the bedroom, and yet over the next few months I ended up developing a craving for him. We continued dating, primarily in secret, though all of our friends new about it. I started to hear stories about him, not about random women, but stories directly from my bar friends there. About how they had dated him in some capacity in the past, and what their experiences were. Since I was an adult, and it was in the past, I listened without judging anyone for it.
The stories went from unsavory to downright nausea inducing. Stories about drunken hookups in the car, where he would find girls at the bar with esteem issues, and take advantage of their lack of confidence. I heard stories from a good friend of mine about how they had worked together and they would have sex all the time at work. She even told me that he was really good at anal because he wasn't well endowed. These stories churned my stomach. Almost every girl I met there had slept with him at some point or another. My friends would bring new friends in, that didn't know me or the bar, and in conversation with them I would find out that they had slept with him. The man was an enigma of gross sex.
Yet, I ran to him whenever he beckoned. BDR was not physically attractive at all. He had breasts bigger than my own, and pasty, sallow skin. He wouldn't acknowledge we were dating like I was something to be ashamed of. He drank like a fish, smoked like a forest fire, and for some reason had started smelling like ass. He began to ask to borrow money, and had come up with elaborate excuses as to why he needed it. We dated off and on for years. It was like the relationship in Say Anything where she writes these beautiful songs for an absolute douchebag, who keeps coming after her, destroying her ability to move on. I had fallen for Jaba The Hut, and there was no saving me, though I tried to stop dating him several times.
Eventually, during one of our "off" times, he came clean as to what he had needed all of the money for. He had finally gotten into a program because he had become addicted to heroin, and had been shooting it up on a regular basis. It's also why he had smelled like ass. The mix between beer, cigs, weed, and heroin being sweat out of his pores left an aroma literally like shit covered his body. When he fessed this up to me, he did it with an apology - one of the twelve steps. He then asked if I wanted to hang out soon. We were at it again. This time it was completely quiet, as he wasn't supposed to date during his first year. I came to find out that he was dating another girl from the bar. We'll call her Dodo, as she had a very distinct and sad resemblance to the bird of the same name. Dodo was also an addict, and engaged to another man. She was blonde, extremely pale, with a big hook nose, and about half my size (addict...). He started showing up at events, publically, with Dodo, not worried about appearances with her, though she was about to be married to another man. I randomly saw him out with her one night, and I immediately made a scene and dumped him.
Months later, we were back together, and yet again I ended up finding out he was talking to another girl from the bar. We'll call this girl Chickenhead, because, well, she had a chicken head - really huge cheeks, long pointy nose, and no chin. For awhile BDR had a real Audubon thing going. It made me wonder if I looked like some kind of bird, too.
Over the next year, he continued to see both of us, eventually getting into a relationship with her. I found out that he proposed to her on Valentine's Day. It disgusted me, but by that point I was trying to just let go, which is incredibly hard to do in your twenties. It becomes much easier in your thirties because you have already dealt with this crap in the lessons of your twenties. Some time after his engagement, BDR started to sniff around me again. Anytime he would see me happy, dancing with friends, out with a guy, or even just sitting talking with our group, he would try and talk to me, text me, call me, walk with me. He was relentless. Eventually I gave in and let him kiss me. We started back up again, while he was engaged to Chickenhead. It was horrible. One morning she came home, unexpectedly, 15 minutes after I had left, my forgotten panties hiding in the trash can. Another time he had dropped her off at the airport and immediately came to my house. The next morning, lying naked in bed next to me, he took a call from her, as she had just landed, and told her that he loved her.
Don't get me wrong - she had cheated on him before, with his best friend. Chickenhead was no angel. Somehow with all of this, I had lost myself, and was a shadow of who I really was. Three weeks before the wedding, I looked at him, and asked him what the fuck we were doing. What the fuck was I doing?!? I called it all off right then and there. I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror. The next day, I booked a ticket to the UK to visit my family there. The dates? I would be there the week of the wedding. I ran away. It was a good week, though I spent most of it hibernating. I had told my family what was going on, and they took especially good care of me.
I haven't spoken to BDR since the day that I dumped him. He's been married to Chickenhead for several years now, and she is welcome to keep him. They have a child, and, from what I hear, are happy. Looking at our situation with more sanity now, I would never want a husband that had been intimate with all of my friends (or 75% of the women in Seattle). I still love my friends that had dated him, but feel it is better to keep a little bit of a distance from a situation that was so unhealthy that way. I still can't comprehend why I got so wrapped up with a man I don't find attractive, nor did I ever find him mentally stimulating, or humorous, let alone that I found every single aspect of his behavior reprehensible. What I do know is that there are many reasons that I would never go back to my twenties, though I enjoyed them at the time, and he is definitely one of them.

It's Always The Best Policy

During a conversation with Mr. X recently, he mentioned that he had a less than satisfactory date. It was someone that he had met from a singles site, and what she mentioned as her interests on her profile didn't match up to her interests in person. This happens somewhat frequently in his experience, primarily with art. These women will state that they like art, meet him at a museum or gallery, and then power walk through it like they are running a marathon, missing all of the art that is around them. It turns out that they aren't interested in art, they just say they are because it seems like they should be. Like women are also supposed to like long walks on the beach. Everything says they are supposed to enjoy them. I hate long walks on the beach. Seriously. Sand is not the most comfortable feeling in sandals or flip flops, and going barefoot only leaves your feet vulnerable to sharp little rocks and broken glass, let alone sea kelp, bird doo-doo, and crabs. Obviously I would never put that on my profile.
At the end of this recent date, Mr. X decided to be honest, and tell her it was nice to meet her, without leaving the opening for another bad date. I love that he did that. He was polite but honest. I just wish that she had been as honest in her profile. It would've saved them both a horrible evening.
I am a very strong believer in honesty when dating. Not brutal honesty. There is never a need for brutality. Well, once, once there was a need for brutal honesty during one of my dates.
On a lark, I went to a singles mingle with my best friend, Stacey. Among the men I met, there was one that stood out because he was overly charismatic. He and his roommate had come out to meet people and have some fun. When he came over to me, he told me that he had three questions to ask me: #1. Was I under 40? #2. Do I have any crazy stalker ex-boyfriends? Aaaaaaaaaaaand #3. Does my hoo-ha stink? Obviously, I was horrified by the third question, but it was the only real turn off with him. I decided that I would remember the offensive question, but not completely dismiss him for it. I accepted the invitation to a date with him later that week.
I ended up having to meet him down south, closer to his area, though he had said he would come up my way. On the way there, I ended up calling and planning a date with the cop I had been seeing on and off for awhile. I should've known then that the date I was on the way to shouldn't be happening.
I met him at the upscale restaurant that he had selected. We sat side by side at the empty bar. This is one of my pet peeves. I want to be able to see the face of the person I am trying to get to know. The only reason to sit side by side on a first date is if there is no other option. Anyway, the restaurant he had selected is one of those that hire "models that serve," so that they can get away with hiring based on appearance. One of my former employees was working for this company at the time, and I knew their hiring process. My date started off by informing me that the restaurant hires strippers, and that's why he selected it. Completely offended by his statement, as now he was referring to my former employee, I corrected him.
During the date, he said a few ridiculous things. He told me that next time we met up, that I should bring all my "bitches" with me. He also told me that I had to work to get into his pants - a comment that came out of nowhere, as there was no way in hell I wanted to have anything to do with his pants. The date was going so bad that I was wholeheartedly considering excusing myself to go to the bathroom, and leaving through the window. It got to a point where I couldn't handle it anymore. All niceties were thrown to the wind, and I decided to do a good turn for whatever woman decided to date this ridiculous excuse for a man in the future. I had to be brutally honest with him.
I told him that unfortunately the date was not going as well as he thought it was, and that he had managed to do several things irreparably wrong. He was completely clueless as to what he had done. I informed him that it is not appropriate to: a) take a woman to a place because you think that strippers work there, b) refer to a woman's close friends as her "bitches", c) to assume that every woman wants to get into your pants, and tell them so, and most importantly, d) it is NOT appropriate to ask a woman if her hoo-ha stinks!
He looked at me dumbfounded. He assured me that the hoo-ha thing was funny, and that all the guys he told in the locker room that he asked women that found it hilarious. I decided to put it in a way he would understand: how would he react if a man asked his 16 year old daughter that. He looked at me blankly. Then I asked him what his mother would do if she heard him ask a woman that. I finally knew he understood when he said she would slap him upside the head.
Soon after this difficult lesson, he walked me out to my car. It was one of the weirdest good-byes I have ever had. I had put on my jacket, and he kept trying to "fix" it. He kept tugging at it in different directions. I finally realized that I had emasculated him to an extent that he was impotently trying to save face, and had no way to do it, so he was making an excuse to fix my jacket, which was just fine, in order to feel like there was something he could offer.
My one hope, looking back at all of this, is that my date, and Mr. X's date took away the lesson that Pinocchio learned oh so many years ago. Telling the truth and being a good respectful person that is true to themselves will always get you further than pretending to be something that you are not.

Weathering the storm.

This post is going to be absolute shit. I promise.
As I am drunk. I'm broken, and I'm drunk.
It's been a tough summer so far. I went into this summer knowing that I would not be doing the camp that I have dedicated the last 22 summers of my life to, due to politics with the new priests in that community. My decision to not be affiliated with the camp this year was an incredibly difficult one to make. I do not care for, nor agree with, the direction the new priests are taking with the camp, and will not put my name on it. But in taking a stand against what I believe to be wrong, it also means that I have had to give up my kids. I love these kids, more than they will ever know. And I have to trust that they will have the strength and knowledge to know what is right and what may need a second opinion on the new lessons that are coming their way. I was offered the director position for a camp nearby, and while it did manage to fill a huge area of my empty heart, there is still the absence of the camp that has been my home over the years.
Right before the summer started, already mourning the loss of my camp, I also lost my job of the last five years. Though I had been burned out the last year, I had truly loved my job, and the company I worked for. I used to be the favorite, even though it seemed that the gild had been off this lily for several months, though I don't believe my performance had faltered. I was terminated because I made a stupid mistake on a technicality two months before that I had no knowledge of, and isn't listed anywhere. While I understand the termination in some ways, in many ways it has left me baffled. I had never had so much as a single write up, and the stupid mistake really does not seem to have been enough to where they could never deal with me again. Did it make me that horrible of a person? The month after I was gone, the store I had been managing did horrible numbers in comparison to what I had brought in. It still seems weird to me that an honest ridiculous mistake should make everyone suffer. What good did it do? I still have a hard time waking up knowing that the company I loved so much doesn't want me. That they don't view me as being the best person to work with my crew or the clientele that I brought in. And the fact that I have been having an incredibly difficult time finding a new job just rubs salt into the wound. Two months later, and I've only had a handful of interviews, only one of which is promising, and I can't even afford to take it. Too little money, too far away, too close to the open wound.
When I got home from the camp I directed, my mom informed me that they are putting my childhood home up for sale. Two weeks from now. While I understand the reasoning, and respect their needs, I'm not going to say that it is an easy pill to swallow. I've had a way of life that I have been very used to, and in three months time, much of it has been ripped out from under me. And even with all of it, while devastated, I've been putting on a calm, good face, and coping as best I can.
Until today.
Today I lost it.
Today I went to my parents to help with things, and my mom ridiculed me in front of her neighbor and the girl that she has clean her house. My mom had asked me to come help yesterday, and I spoke with her telling her I would come today. I had horrible cramps yesterday (at times I get them to where they annihilate anything I would consider doing with my body, like sitting up or standing), and I was on muscle relaxers because of them. Apparently my mom didn't hear what I said, because when I got there today, she humiliated me, and basically told me to leave. This is extremely upsetting because my mother rarely listens to what I have to say. Whenever I try and tell her a story, she'll cut me off and start into something else completely. My sisters notice it often. When I got back from camp, I was so excited to tell her that I had been given a youth director position at the church. Hoping she would be proud of me, and that she would want to hear about what I had the kids do at camp. Instead, she spent our time telling me about her bills, and informed me that they would be selling the house in two weeks. I did not leave my parents house knowing I had made my mother proud, instead I left my parents house that day with a broken heart. My mom couldn't care less about what I had done with the kids at camp. So today, when my mom had treated me so horribly, simply because she, once again, didn't listen to me, it broke the dam. All the sadness, loss, upset, and devastation that I had been holding at bay surfaced. I sat in my car, on the way home, in tears, screaming at whatever cars decided to pass me or get in my way. For the first time since I had been coping with all of this, I did something completely irresponsible. I went to the store and bought a crap ton of alcohol and a loaf of French bread with money I didn't have. Then I went home and drank a bottle of wine and ate the loaf of bread. And sat down to write in my dating blog about everything that doesn't have anything to do with dating (believe me, that's not going well, either).
But hey. At least I went to the gym today, before it all went to hell. At least there's that.

Boredom Strikes

It's been about a month, and I've been remiss in writing. In my spare time I've been talking with men from different singles sites. It's like some weird addiction and leech all at the same time. I still hold my stance that singles sites aren't the best way to meet someone, but it has been a nice distraction. But a distraction is primarily all it is.
Most of the guys that I have been talking to live in other states, and I'm not willing to relocate. Though it has been nice getting to know them, it's difficult to take it seriously. What really gets me is learning more about some of these men, and being surprised that there truly are good men out there. There are two that live in other states that have really stuck out.
The first of which is a gentleman in Baton Rouge who I really hit it off with on our initial conversation, so much so that we stayed up chatting until seven in the morning. He's a few years older than me, has an easy laugh, and sincere personality. He was extremely respectful and flattering during our hours long conversation, and it was amazing. Then I found out more. It turns out that he is a single father, in an interesting situation. His daughter lives in another state, but not with her birth mother. Her birth mother abandoned them three days after she was born and has never been heard from again. He raised his daughter by himself, and with the help of a good friend that he eventually got into a relationship with, who became the only mother his daughter has ever known. Even though they broke up years ago, he recently decided that the best thing for his daughter's future was to move her out of the dangerous area of Baton Rouge, and put her in a good school in another state with the mother that loves her. Though he misses her and visits her often, it's a sacrifice that he has lovingly done for his daughter until he has the ability to move with her. To hear him speak of his child with so much love and as a sacred child as opposed to a burden and object as many single dads do, well, it touched my heart.
The other gentleman currently lives in Texas, though he has lived in many states due to having been in the army. We struck up a conversation, and I asked him about a few things on his profile, primarily how he is 41 years old and already retired from the military. He gave me some sort of bland answer, and I just let it pass by. On our first actual phone call, within the first few minutes, he had something to tell me. He had an urgency about it that I didn't completely understand, though I could tell he was really nervous about it. He asked me if I was sitting down, and so I sat. He then told me a story that somewhat startled me because it was so unexpected. It turns out that six years ago he had been in a bad motorcycle accident, and while he survived it, he lost both his legs, one just above the kneecap, the other just below. I listened to his story, and felt for him. He was so nervous having to expose himself this way. Only someone that has to open up her deepest secrets every time she dates someone would understand. It's a hard scary thing to do - put yourself out there to be judged for something you are not in control of, but is yet a part of you that will never go away, every time you have an interest in someone. After hearing his story, I asked him how he was. He seemed a little surprised that my response was so simple. I asked him how he gets along now, and about the logistics that work for him. And then I explained something: I had a friend in high school that had also gotten into an accident, and had also lost both her legs. She is so spunky and sassy, that she purposely wears shorts with her titanium prosthetic stilts, just to show off that she is unique. I always thought  that she was so cool. She took something that would destroy many, and put it right out there. I asked him what types of responses he's had from women after telling them his story, and he then made me cry. Most of the women he has told have either told him they were no longer interested, or immediately backed out of talking to him, or have even hung up on him. People are so cruel.
I probably will never meet either of these gentlemen in person, and many would think that it is ridiculous to continue talking to them, but it doesn't feel that way to me. I'm still talking with men in town, and have no expectations of these situations. If anything, I feel a little guilt that I'm not serious due primarily to the distance, but it has really helped to meet and get to know them both. There are good men out there. There are also other human beings that need to be treated as the worthwhile people that they are.

Sweet Dreams Are Made Of These

During this time of transition for me, I've been looking at what options are out there. For the last two years I have been kicking myself for not having pursued my passion for acting further. In my late teens and early twenties I listened to all of the dogooders telling me that the chances of making a living by acting is close to nil, and that only a special few actually eke out a way of life. The naysayers that made me believe that there really wasn't anything all that special about me, at least not special enough that professionals would notice. That in a casting call, I would just blend in with all the rest of the cattle. I listened well, and still considered what my shape my future would take. Maybe I would still pursue it, and at least give it a shot. Then I put a down payment on a house with my sister, and like an unplanned pregnancy, my future took a shape that I never intended. I needed to make mortgage, so I needed a salaried job. I needed to buy a new car to get me to that salaried job. I needed insurance for that car. I needed to be stable and available for the stable job so that I could pay for all the things I needed in order to pay for the house that entailed all of the above. All of a sudden, rather than acting, I was managing businesses 40-60 hours a week, and I was content. I knew I had given up my dreams, but I had been told over and over that I would never attain them in the first place. In their place I had built a life I was proud of, working with youth, teaching kids how to be confident in front of others, how to love their own imperfections, and how to believe in themselves. I own a house, a good car, I have a couple of pets, and I don't have to eat Top Ramen for dinner every night. I took up oil painting in order to have an artistic outlet, and I have been Creative Director of the camp, leading all of the campfires just so I still get to be in front of people, sharing my love of theater.
And then, in my thirties, something happened. Just by being myself, I captured the attention of people that others vie to get notice from. I was selected out of the cattle, beautiful cattle at that. The fighter I dated for a year is not just any fighter. He is one of the biggest fighters in the history of MMA. He's been in several films, and is incredibly well known the world over. Over the years countless women have thrown themselves at him. All I had to do was be myself: confident, irreverent, funny, charming, and completely imperfect. That, and my green eyes, and it was an easy choice for him. Not to mention his opponent, the one that I have since become friends with, who not only has trained A-list celebrities, but is making a name for himself, not only with MMA and UFC, but with Hollywood as well.
And then there's my Diego. My good, close, dear friend, Diego is an extremely successful actor as well. He's been in the industry since I was a kid, and has costarred in many cult classics that it would be considered un-American to not have seen. I studied him when I was in college. We began our unorthodox friendship a few years ago, once again, just by me being me. I wrote him a congratulations on his facebook page for a life event that he had, and that one little missive started a conversation, which started a lengthy correspondence for years, which led to phone calls, skypes, and a long term dear friendship. All because of just enough confidence, and some pretty eyes that I was blessed enough to have gotten from my father.
Looking back this last year at what I have done with my life, now much more aware of my own draw and abilities, the only thing I regret is that I never pursued my own dreams. I let people talk me out of them. And now in my mid thirties, a point where most women are viewed to be too old in this industry, I finally want to see what I can do, even if it is just in the minor industry Seattle has, at least I can have some fun, and feel as though I am seeking something for myself. Not for my house, my car, or my pets, but for my own soul.
I have come to realize, though, during this time of unemployment, that it is much easier to pursue dreams while having time, and at least a modicum of an income. And once again, my dreams, and my long term reality are at ends. I will eventually, probably sooner rather than later, have to get another salaried full time position, and my own time for castings, auditions, and tapings will be gone.
I have to admit, dating the fighter is looking mighty good about now. He had spoken about when I would stop working, and having a partnership that isn't reliant on my income would be a huge blessing in this situation. But he comes part and parcel with an insanity that, though I understand it, can be brutal to those that love him. I've been thinking about him a lot the last few weeks. Even considering how horrible our break up was, I have come to realize that he was most likely in the midst of one of his episodes. It makes it incredibly difficult to not contact him, knowing that he has been hurting too, in ways that have nothing to do with me. But he hurt me as well, and though the lifestyle he has to offer has a lot of ease, excitement, and even prestige, it also comes with a dependency on him that I cannot do, as well as loneliness and even danger from his instability. And that is if he would even consider me again after all we went through.
I guess, in the end, it's best for me to fight for my own dreams. I'm already a warrior, I don't need a man to champion me.

She Ra vs. He Man - Who Has The Power?

Even as a young girl, there has been no end to my desire for a career where I could be in a position of influence, with the ability to help those younger than me develop skills that will help them for the rest of their professional lives. Over the years, I have moved up in the ranks at the camp I volunteer for, starting as a camper, and ending up as Creative Director. At my parents' restaurant, I moved through all of the positions, and eventually ended up as manager. When I completed college, I continued my career in restaurant/business management. More often than not, this was at the expense of my relationships. While initially men are attracted to a woman that is strong and has initiative, in the end many men don't want a woman that shows them up. They don't want a woman that will push them out of their comfort zone, purely by chasing her own ambitions. I have several ex boyfriends that mentioned to our friends, after the fact, that they broke things off because they felt emasculated. They preferred the comfort and ease of not seeking their own potential. Sadly, I have gotten used to this phenomenon. It is part of the reason I started dating my fighter. I was seeking someone with proven ambition, where I would always feel feminine, and there was no way I could ever emasculate him, no matter how well I did. But, as history shows, those relationships can blow up in my face, too.
For the last five years, I have been in management for a company that I have loved. Unfortunately, a couple of months ago I made an honest mistake on a technicality that I was unaware of, and it recently cost me my job. The company was in a difficult position, and I completely understood their actions. It was not an easy decision for them to make. My boss was in tears when she told me. I have been heartbroken this week, and have felt that much of my world is crashing around me. I won't be able to continue developing employees that I care about. Regular clientele that have become dear friends will be left wondering what happened. Today it hit me that I won't be seeing other mall employees again that have become family to me. After half a decade of stability and friendships, I am sincerely at a loss about what my world is now. Even while applying for jobs, I have no idea what I want my next step to be. The one thing I know is that I need time to figure everything out.
The one place where I am strangely in high demand right now is in my dating life. Several men have shown direct interest. Good men. A red flag here and there, but good men. And every single one of them has no qualms about the fact that I am currently unemployed, and that I am mess. Now that I am vulnerable and broken, they are like moths to a fire. I kind of want to kick them.
But I guess when it comes down to power, even without my strong position at this moment, I am still soft and feminine and tender, and that is more valuable than any influential position can offer.

How A Woman Works.

Michelangelo once said "A man paints with his brains, not with his hands." I have the privilege and the burden of being a woman who paints with my heart.
The vacation I was so frivolously offered by Mr. X never came to thruition, and I'm probably better for it. Deep down I don't think we were meant to be more than friends, if we're even meant to be that, as circumstances currently are. It's hard to make someone understand why you're upset when their brain does not function with the sensitivity and capacity as your own. I think men are simple in their brain functions. I don't mean that they are simple headed, though some are. I believe that emotionally their skills of reasoning are completely different than that of women. Mr. X is convinced that the reason I am upset is because I was offered time with him, which I was, twice during this fiasco, and I was denied both opportunities. So, in his eyes, I am throwing a bitchfit because I didn't get to see him, although he had pretty valid reasons for not being able to come out. Makes me sound like a total bitch, doesn't it?
But I'm not a bitch. Well, at least not according to me. Some of my ex boyfriends might disagree with me. In this situation I changed my entire schedule, that of all of my employees, and two other salons in order to get that time off at a moment's notice. I had to plead with my director of operations about what a great opportunity the workshop was in order for her to agree to it. It was days of work to be able to get the time, as well as a lot of inconvenience of others for me to go, only for it to fall through. And even that I understood. His father was ill, and family comes first. I of all people understand that.
I was confused. All of a sudden this close friend, part of my heart, someone I talked to for hours every night, who comforted me, and didn't judge me, had put out an offer that confused me. It changed the properties of our friendship, I was in unchartered territory, and it scared me. In my teens and twenties, I would've just covered it up, ignored it, or dreamed about happy endings. I'm not that girl any more. In my thirties, if something scares me, I go to the source. I went to him with my confusion, and was put off. He was too busy talking to a girl that he has no interest in. It stung. When he finally spared a few moments to chat with me, my issues were acknowledged, and then ignored. It was cruel. I may as well have told him that I had gotten a splinter while filing my nails. It seemed like an everyday inconvenience as opposed to an amazing, funny, intelligent and caring friend saying that she was confused with feelings.
So, I got incredibly frustrated, made sure he knew it, and then we didn't talk for days. I ended up contacting him for something that I needed advice with, and we tried to talk about our friendship at that point, at which he finally acknowledged that he may have wanted to see how things would be with me, too. Then the offer for him to come out here for a few days during this now impromptu vacation was made. I told him what my plans were, including getting away to the coast for a couple of days, even if it was on my own. I was planning on going during the weekdays, for solitude, and for financial convenience. He told me that if he was to come out it would be Thursday-Sunday most likely. I asked him to let me know, because, again, my plans now revolved around him. Needless to say, he didn't come out, and I did not get to go to the coast, by myself or otherwise. Rather than speaking with his family as soon as possible in order to give me the consideration of an early answer so that I could plan this week I had off with no plans (thanks to him), he waited to tell me until it was too late for me to get a booking at the place I was interested in going by myself.
And this is why I'm aggravated. In so much of this situation he influenced my time and energy, and not for the best, and then made it sound like I'm just whiny because he's not here. He can stay in New York and shit in his pants for all I care. Friends don't treat each other like this. It's not only the waste of time that gets me, but the self righteous slap in the face, not acknowledging that he has done anything thoughtless and that I am just a bawling child that doesn't get to play with her toy.
If he can't understand this, as it has been explained to him several times, he never will, and I'm sick of spending time with men that make me feel stupid and shitty because it is convenient for them.
During my time off, I have been able to do a lot of things I normally don't get to do because of my hectic schedule. Today I went to the Seattle Art Museum. When there, in the Ancient Greek exhibit, I noticed a small replica of one of the sculptured women that make the columns that held up the biggest buildings in Greek antiquity. Beautiful women bore the weight of the world in those days. And today, in this time of single parent households, women working full time, as well as making a home and building a family, or fretting against bills, family ills, and infertility, it seems we still hold the weight of the world. This crap from men that can't pull their head out of their ass to acknowledge how blessed they are to have such amazing women in their lives is just another burden that we no longer need. At this point in my life, I want men in my life that don't need to be persuaded to acknowledge that I'm a good person, and that I'm a catch. I don't want men around me that point out things they feel are negative about me, like being a vegetarian, or a feminist, or that I stand up for myself when hurt or upset. I don't want someone that will only deal with things in their manner, not acknowledging that the way I deal is just as important to our equation. I want someone that will fight for me, even if it is fighting with me. Someone with balls and initiative, that can ask me out and pursue a future, yet who will respect me, my feminity, my strength, and my heart.
 Mr. X, I wish you luck in your journey to find a woman. It might help if you truly listen to what they are saying first.

How Did Carrie Do It?

In Sex And The City, week after week we watched as Carrie Bradshaw hung her love life out on the public clothesline in New York. This is fine and dandy until you think of the logistics of that. In one episode they showed Alexandr Petrovsky quoting one of her articles, and, of course, the peeing politician mentioned that his people had issues with his personal life being displayed, but there's not much mention of anyone else she dated reading them at the time she was dealing with them. How does one write publically about the juicy stuff in one's life without having the writing of it influence the outcome? It almost seems like Mr. Big was completely oblivious to the articles, or just didn't care enough to read them, otherwise how would he not have split with her neurotic drama from early on? I mean, c'mon! Carrie is already a bit irritating! Having her write all of your intimate details for New York to fawn over, why deal with it? I ponder these things, hoping that I am a bit more endearing, and that the men in my life will continue to put up with me, even if I write about them.
A few weeks ago, when I tested a theory I had of my ability to write well while becoming intoxicated, which I failed miserably, I introduced Mr. X.
And now I sit, staring at the screen, not knowing where to go from here. Whatever thoughts and feelings I put down may be taken wrong by a few parties concerned. In my quest for a healthy way of dealing with relationships and honesty with myself, I have decided to forge the breach, if only I could figure out how.
Mr. X is one of my closest, dearest friends. He is a man that I met years ago on one of the dating sites I was on, one that was based on being of the same culture. We got along well from the start, but lived across the country from each other. Neither of us was willing to consider moving, a dealbreaker we figured out early on. As we respected each other, and got along so well, we kept in touch as friends. When I was last in New York, we had the chance to meet in person, and had a great, although fast and furious time at the MoMA. The outing left me knowing that he was an absolutely amazing single Greek man. I had found the Holy Grail. As Greek women are bound to do, I decided to try and match him up with one of my best friends, Persephone.
Persie is an amazing artist, adorable, and absolutely willing to move. She also has an impetuous desire for fun and adventure, and does not have the best judgement when she's drunk. Persie and Mr. X get along really well, though there is a comfort level that he and I have obtained that they haven't quite come to yet. It also turns out that I'm not that great of a matchmaker. Persie and Mr. X are not a match primarily for logistical reasons. Mr. X is needing his bride to be previously unmarried, while Persie has been divorced. Though it seems like an unusual requirement in this day and age, the reason for it, I assure you, is a good one. At this point, though, I fear that Persie has developed strong feelings for him. I can't blame her, he's amazing. Who wouldn't? And he, being the definition of extraordinary, completely cares for her heart, and her soul, just as he does for mine, and anyone lucky enough to come into contact with him.
Being one of my closest friends, he's been privy to the rollercoaster that is my dating life. He knows my blunders and my men troubles. And he's sat there, with a strong shoulder, not judging, but nudging me to do the right things.
Knowing about my recent breakups and hardships, Mr. X recently invited me to join him on a trip for a painting workshop, an interest we both are passionate about. Ever the gentleman, he offered to take care of me, just so that we both could get away and have a good time together. And no matter how I try and write about it, and make a point of how great a friend he is, it becomes clear that this gesture of friendship really touched my heart, differently than anyone has. It's not that he offered to help pay. While most women thrive on the thought that men value them enough to pay for them, I have a hard time with it. I don't want to be bought. This way there is no doubt why I value someone.
Something about the invitation from Mr. X brought tears to my eyes. I'm a spunky, independent, brassy, strong woman. Most guys I date either want to make me vulnerable, or need someone to take care of them. Mr. X, on the other hand, wanted to share an experience he is passionate about with me, and was willing to go to long lengths to do so. He wanted to take care of me to keep me strong, not to make me weak. And this is where writing publically scares me, because I have to admit that the one grand gesture of friendship has sparked feelings that I have been fighting for a long time. I've had to recognize that in my realm of friends, there has been a true, honest, loving man that I have been pushing away for fear of leaving the nest and building a life of my own. And now I'm in an awkward place, between my friendship, and these fledgeling feelings that I hope subside somehow. Mr. X has his world that he is living in, and is trying to find a match in that world, and I am confused, alone, and probably just in a weird spot, trying not to read anything into a very generous offer of kindness.
There is a possibility that I may be able to see him in person again the week after next, if the stars align, the muffins rise, Lindsay Lohan stays sober, whatever. If that happens, I'm sure that everything will be as normal, and our friendship will override whatever awkward emotions this whole thing has brought to light. Because if things remain confusing, then I have to figure out how the hell I'm supposed to talk to Persephone about all of this, when I haven't even been able to tell her about the initial invitation in the first place.

Fresh Blood

With my track record for continuously re-dating the same shmoes, wasting years in a vicious cycle of redoing relationships that are going nowhere, I decided that I needed to go on the hunt for some fresh meat. I've stated before that I'm not a big believer in dating websites. I really am not, but in this situation, where I desperately needed some new blood, I decided to give the little faces in boxes a go again.
I reactivated one of my old accounts, and perused the menu of available options. There were a few fishy looking old guys, a couple of meaty beefcakes, some indigestibly geeky brainmuffins, and countless boring, bland, tasteless bread baskets with no butter in sight. I managed to find two appetizing items that looked like something I might want to sink my teeth into. One of them had a sweet sincere smile, dark good looks, and a simple honest profile, like a plate of my favorite seasoned vegetables (saying a lot, coming from a vegetarian). The other looked like a decadent, rich, creamy, chocolatey dessert. Something that I probably shouldn't be considering because it would inevitably end up on my hips and ass, and would probably be difficult to get rid of when I rue the decision for ever biting into it in the first place.
Deep down, I really do want a healthy relationship with a good person, so I contacted option number one, and within about a week, we went out. He is adorable, just as beautiful as his pictures showed, with an extremely sweet smile, deep brown eyes, and a quirky little scar on his forehead. He showed up a few minutes late, but was extremely apologetic, and explained why. When the server came, he ordered an appetizer, though we were initially only out for drinks. To my surprise, I found out that he is a vegetarian as well. This occurrence baffled me. The only male vegetarians I knew were either granolas, gay, or obnoxious. An attractive, down to earth, male vegetarian seemed about as common as finding big foot riding on a unicorn by a kettle of gold. But I found one. We shared two appetizers and split a dessert - which he more than happily persuaded me to select. We shared some fun stories about ourselves, and overall had a great time. We walked out to the parking lot together, and parted ways to our own vehicles. One of the better dates I've had in a long time, though I wasn't sure how much chemistry we have towards a relationship, I am most definitely up to seeing him again to figure it out.
And then there are my inner cravings. They can be too much to bear at times. I contacted option number two. Almost three weeks later, we were able to meet in person. I drove 45 minutes to meet him in Tacoma, because he lives near Olympia. I had found some fun date ideas to do out there and decided to use one of them. I was coming straight from work, and was famished. I let him know that I would need to eat something, so to plan on catching some food out there. Once out there, I got word from him that he was running late. A few text messages and an hour later, he showed up. I had patiently sat, sipping my beer, waiting to order until he got there. That's when he told me that one of his friends had barbecued, and that he grabbed some chicken on his way over. So he watched me eat. While he watched me eat my dinner, he mentioned that his friend was having a party that evening, and invited me to it. He also mentioned that another friend was DJing at a nearby club, and invited me there. He wasn't obnoxious about it, never suggesting we immediately leave what were doing to do these other options, but moreso that we could do that as well. When I had eaten enough under his watchful eyes, it was time for the bill. I wasn't planning on letting him pay for me, because I'm a pretty big believer in going dutch on blind/singles site dates. Since he didn't eat anything, I felt weird about making a point of splitting the bill, so I just paid for the whole thing. He seemed fine with this, and then stated that he had the tip, for which he under tipped the server by quite a bit. We then left the bar for the arcade that I wanted to go to. I hadn't told him where we were headed, expecting any male to have the same reaction that I would if someone surprisingly took me to an arcade on a date: I would immediately adore them. We walked around, and he made a bee line to the bathroom (his third john visit of the hour, plus one trip to his vehicle to make sure that he paid for parking). It was a bit of a red flag, though I wasn't sure why. I got some quarters, and we played a few games, and he patronized my efforts, though he definitely wasn't as excited to play Pac Man, old school Mario Bros, and Frogger as I was.  We did actually have some fun in the arcade - it wasn't horrible, but obviously it wasn't the greatest date I've ever been on, either. I can't fault him as of yet because some of the icky stuff can be circumstantial. He did buy my beer at the arcade, and possibly would have figured something about the bill at the bar if it wasn't such an awkward situation - part of which was due to his inconsideration. I think the thing that stands out the most was one tiny little instance at the arcade. I could tell he found me attractive while we were sipping bears and talking at the bar, but I was surprised while walking through the arcade, I turned around to say something to him and caught him looking at me so salaciously that it felt like he should have had my consent or something before looking at me that way. He eye raped me.
When I was ready to head home, he walked me to my car - the first man to do that on a first date with me in a long while, and then he kissed me. Even after the lukewarm aspects of the date, his kiss was really nice. I may consider a second date with him because we did have chemistry, and I want to see if some of the snafus were just that: snafus.
It's always at this point that I want to find a good sized stick, and smack myself over the head with it repeatedly. I think that chemistry is making me stupid. I'm not more interested in option number two, obviously, though I may be more attracted to him, even if option number one is more beautiful, kind, sincere, and thoughtful. I may need to readjust my appetite just a little bit. If anyone knows of healthy options menu of men for me to select from, please send it my way!

Dancing With Ourselves.

Sometimes I think that marrieds have no realistic memory of what it is like to be single. I swear that many of them think we're dancing around a fire, naked, playing by our own rules, in a sexy love free for all, like a perverse Lord of the Spanish Flies or something.
In the last few months I've had a few occasions to spend time with my married cousins. I love them dearly, but sometimes I really feel like they would rather not deal with me. Even though we have a lot in common, I still feel like there is awkwardness in conversations. They find it amusing that I have dated the men that I have, and find my take on my relationships humorous, but they really don't remember how to give advice on dealing with different men. It more often becomes advice on what it takes to remain married. Which is great, except that I am not engaged to be married, or even dating one person in specific right now as I just broke up with the fighter. It's like trying to teach a duck's egg how to swim. You can talk until your face is blue, but that egg isn't going to learn a thing until it hatches, if it even does that much.
I know they mean well, but it baffles me sometimes how much they have forgotten how it is to be independent. To not have anyone to depend on for your finances other than yourself. To not have anyone to cry to about your fears of not having a family, or the stress of not always being able to pay bills on time. To feel lucky to be held for more than just a few minutes, rather than to know that you always have arms you can run to. The conversations that they take for granted, about where to take their next trip, planning what to make for dinner for two, laughing without saying anything, even doing a funny dance because it is okay for your loved one to see your stupid side, well, those are things that just don't really exist for the single girl. Not on a regular basis, anyway.
When I get those rare moments where I am in a relationship long enough to trust someone to that extent, I truly cherish them. That's why it is so difficult for me to let go. My ex, the one with all the kids, who broke my heart and sprained my hip, he's also the one whose arms I crawled into when my world was destroyed. He was also the last person who saw me let loose and dance like a gangster rapper when we were BBQing together on a hot summer day. He was the one who held me up close against him as we slept every night. He was the one nodding off on the couch, refusing to go to bed until I was done with what I was doing, so he could fall asleep holding me. Not only did I have to learn to be on my own again, amidst heartache and loneliness, but I also had to learn that it was all a lie. When we recently revisited the idea of hanging out, I realized how true it is that I am single, and always have been, even when I felt whole with him. Now that the shine is off, he doesn't want to hold me. He doesn't want to spend time with me. He doesn't care about my fears, nor my hopes. It wasn't that he ever cared for me. He just loved me at the time. Marrieds don't necessarily get that. It's not wanting to be independent, it's surviving the realization that you have to be.

I Have A Theory...

I have a theory that I am an even more fabulous writer after I have had a few drinks. As I am writing about dating and relationships, I think that my blog is the best place to test this theory, having such great subject matter. After every few sentences, I will take a hearty swig of either rum or mavrodaphne (a Greek dessert wine), and then continue to write. I will not double check spelling or grammar, as I think the beauty will be lost if it is corrected.
Disclaimer: I am well over drinking age, at home, and will not be driving. The only harm that will come from drinking and writing will probably be done to the poor people subject to reading this. For this I apologize ahead of time. And yes, I have already started.

I did it. I threw my pearls before swine again. I dealt with my ex (see prior entry for proof of my stupidiity), and am left here with my vagina in my hands. So to speak. It really just doesn't sound the same as when a guy says it, does it? Well, not that a guy would talk about his vagina, but you know what I mean.
NOTE: As I write this, I have been chatting with a dear friend, Mr. X - remember him, he'll play a part in future blog entries as the arch nemesis to the horrible men I date. Just after I wrote the above paragraph, he randomly wrote the following, not knowing what my blog entry is about: i wish i had a helpful vagina. not instead of a penis but a helpful vagina attached to a woman. I was in the midst of a swig of rum when I read that, and literally choked on it. I ended up heaving at the kitchen sink, and once I could breathe again, had to change my clothes from all of the rum all that I had coughed all over them, and came back to a living room that looked like a slaughterhouse. Daiquiri mix may taste nummy, but looks wretched sprayed across a couch, carpet, and computer screen.

My ex and I have pretty much come the conclusion that I pretty much came to weeks ago: we can't stand dealing with each other, at least not with his current situation and my expectations. My expectations seem to be the worst part of it. I ask for too much, it seems, by wanting to deal with someone who wants to spend time with me, wants to sleep next to me and aw fuck it blahblahblah wahwahwah. We broke up because we are broken. We can't stand compromising with each other,because I'm smart, and he's too stupid and stubborn to recognize it. I know that that probably sounds pigheaded and cocky, but I'm not the one with five kids from three different women and no degree or future career promotional prospects, am I?!? Noooooooooooo. I'm just the idiot that continues to deal with him.

Note to self: when contacting a celebrity ex that you ticked off and despise, in order to make yourself feel better, trying to start a conversation with "Do you still suck?" may not be the best way to do so.

In my conversation with Mr. X tonightm, he mentioned that it is the eve of his birthday, and that he is dreadingit. He feels that he is not where he should be, and his birthday is yet another marker of that. He yearns for a family of his own, and feels that he should have had one long ago. He takes issue that many others have been blessed with one, and that he is a bit of a Johnny Comelately.
I know this feeling, with all my heart. It tears me to pieces that I am single, alone, and that I have to make a place for myself in my sisters' families, as I have not found my partner in crime yet. But what I will not do is compare. I will not compare myself to others that have formed families of their own. I have blessings that they don't. Many of them are unhappy, and envious. Many are happy and content. Either way, it is no concern of mine. My journey is my own, and I intend to live it fully. Does it kill me that my irresponsible ex has so many kids while I have none? Yes it does, especially that he had another after we talked so thoroughly about having kids. Do I cry? Yes. But you know what? He hides in the bathroom every night, smoking pot for hours so that he can escape his life, where he is stuck in a shitty relationship with a vulture. I wouldn't trabe places with him, or any of his baby mommas in the workd.

So wgat now? Out of the four men I was arguining with, my fighter is out of the question, because he apparently DOES still suck. My Diego is still my Diego. He'll remain a good friend, but is unattainable, and I am more than okay wiht that, because I think we would kill each other if we were more. Man number three (would that make hin diarrhea?), my ex's coworker, has spent a couple of lunches with me, and makes me laugh, but is in no better a situation than my ex, and I obviously don't wnat to deal with that shit any more. Even my cop (have I mentioned him before? That yummy fine example of manhood is an entry to himself) is most likely moving to California. So now, I guess that the world is my shmorgasboard, and it's time for me to take this Greek asss, and introduce it to some new men. We'll see how that goes...

Baggage. Lots and Lots of Baggage.

The other morning I managed to get into two different arguments with different men, talk to a third about a fourth, my ex, and found out that according to him, I'm no longer available. And all of this was before 9:30 am, and all of it was due to baggage, not mine, but theirs.
Once you hit a certain age, it is highly unlikely that you will be someone's first love. You may be their most true love, but not generally first. Oftentimes, because of this, they are no longer a free soul, ready for anything. They come to you carrying baggage, whether it be emotional leftovers, career oriented, actual children, or all three.
Though my fighter and I are done dating, and he knows there is no opportunity to pursue a commitment with me, we have been able to maintain a semblance of a friendship, at least for the time being. We argue even more as friends than we did when dating. I take the blame for that. I am no longer trying to build a future with him, so I am more free to speak my mind, and stand up for it. I care about him, still, even after all the maltreatment, but I no longer care about what he thinks of me. He and I have been going round and round for days, about his opponent that I had dated. And it's not how you would think, either. We've been having ridiculously stupid arguments about which of us is more informed on what his former opponent has been doing lately. The opponent recently signed with the UFC after years of hard work in getting accepted back in. He also is currently doing his first film and he is publishing his first book from selections of his inspirational exercise blog. When my fighter brought up the UFC, I mentioned the other recent successes that his opponent has achieved, and then my fighter basically lost his shit. He's so jealous of the opponent's current success that he can spit. My fighter had his heyday years ago. He was HUGE. Over 54 million people tuned in to watch one of his fights just because it was him. He became a fighting champion overnight, and is still one of the biggest names in fighting, especially to anyone that watched PRIDE or K1. He's done some movies, and has had much success in Sumo and wrestling as well. There is no doubt that he is successful. But I know him well enough to know that he misses being the most successful person in the room, though he generally is. The fact that his opponent, who won their match in under 20 seconds, is now at such an exciting time, while my fighter's career is somewhat winding down chaps his hide, and hearing about it from me, who just recently ended things with him, and also dated the opponent during the time of their fight and his loss, doesn't help. We argued about this for days. He is not willing to acknowledge that his opponent is doing anything more than the UFC, because in some way that threatens his own success.
During an earlier argument, I said something that struck a chord in him. He used what I said verbatim as material for a video on his youtube channel, is arguing my point it, taking our intimate discourse public, and is also changing my name, so I don't even get credit for what I said. While I'm very flattered to be a muse for my "Diego", the actor and political activist that has become a trusted mentor, an ally and conspirator, and one of the few men that still makes my heart skip a beat, having my thoughts be used and prostituted out by my fighter is another story completely. And there you have what we were arguing about before I even woke up the other morning. And all because he can't accept that another (magically delicious!) man is getting the success he has worked so hard for.
The second argument I had was with my Diego, of all people. The strange thing is, though, that the basis of our issue is the same thing that I have issues with the other two on. They have families in less than perfect situations. Diego and I got into it because I haven't heard much from him for months, and he got frustrated with me when I asked if I somehow upset him. Things have been crazy for him at home, and, along with work, his life is about "have to"s rather than "want to"s. I'm not jealous of his significant other. I don't envy their home life. They have their issues, and I hope they get them figured out by either separating at some point, or staying together and working through them. Where the baggage comes in is that there is a child because of this relationship (or in the case of the other two men that I had dealings with the other morning, 2 children with man #3, and five children for my ex). The child is not the baggage in these situations. Their current relationships are the baggage, although with Diego, I believe it is a compilation of his career, his politics, and his home life. He is an amazing man who I adore and am captivated by, but we can both be bullheaded, though we talk through things well. We got our issue figured out on my way in to work, simply by listening to what each other had to say and taking a moment to care.
With the other two, I feel for them. Both men are stuck in relationships that are basically hell, for lack of a better word, simply because they have children that they love, and are scared of what will happen to their relationships with them if they break up with the mothers. Both men mentioned getting home from work at the end of their day, closing themselves off, either in the bathroom or going for walks, for HOURS. They sleep separately from the woman they are supposed to cherish, and hold a lot of resentment for their situations. Baggage. In my dealings with all four of these men (NOTE: the third man I have never dated, though we flirted with the idea. He has mentioned being interested to see where we could go if he is ever able to get out of his situation at home. He is also friends with my ex, and works with him. It makes for a precarious friendship), their home situations influence my life, though I have no children of my own, and have freedom to see who I want, I can't talk or see the men I currently want to because their situations aren't as open as my own. I find myself rebelling often due to their responsibilities. There are really good aspects to these men, especially in friendship, but the consequences of their choices or "accidents" need not be influencing my life to the extent it is.
I guess I should open up about where my resentment is stemming from. My ex (yes, the one with five kids) and I have started spending time with each other. Though I can't consider anything long term with him at this point as his youngest child, the one that was conceived not long after we broke up, will always be an issue for me. Not the child herself, as it is not her fault she was born, but the circumstances of her birth. But, in the meantime, after my recent break up and the treatment I received from my fighter, it has been extremely comforting to deal with someone who can make me laugh when I am having a tough day, by simply smiling at me when I am venting, making me acknowledge that there is humor to my situations. He never abused me and he always made me feel worthwhile, we just had our issues, and though they are major, I would still rather deal with him and the love he legitimately had for me any day over dealing with a celebrity that made me feel like I wasn't worth dogshit.

Edie and Andy

I don't want to live my life to end up being remembered in reference to someone else, especially if that person can't be bothered to care about me as well. I do have a fear, not of commitment, but of giving myself so fully to someone, and having the other person look down on everything I have to offer, and still demand more. Not because they see potential in me, but because they don't care for the world I have given them. They feel entitled. They want to get more out of me, or anyone they can get it from. I am not speaking of everyone, just of those that I know, that I have loved as friends and lovers.
I have been blessed, truly blessed, to have amazing people in my life that love and support me. I have also had the blessing of many lessons bestowed by a journey that, at times, I hated because it hurt so badly. I am at a crossroads now, as I feel that I give too much, and yet I don't want bad experiences to dim the beauty of trust, giving of yourself, and love.
I have been home sick today, watching Factory Girl, the film based on Edie Sedgwick and Andy Warhol. It has given me much food for thought today. Any time Edie is referenced, Andy Warhol inevitably comes up, but not so much the other way. They had been so important to each other, and Edie really benefitted from their all encompassing friendship, but she also wasn't able to grow in her own right because of it. In ways, it destroyed her.
The aspect of all of this that really pulls at my heart is that after she dies, it's almost a bother for him to have to acknowledge her. He is detached. She was an observation that he was lucky enough to make and benefit from. While she will be remembered as he defined her, he had moved on and didn't care to recognize the influence they had on each other as more than just an acknowledgement in a citation. I don't mean to demonize Mr. Warhol, as I think he was a genius. I do feel that his detachment from his subjects wasn't just an artistic decision, but also a personal way of dealing with people and things.
I bring this up in reference to my own feelings of love and abandonment. I had a similar platonic love affair for much of my life. I gave my heart and soul to a friend that I felt I couldn't live without. I dealt with his jealousy if I dated another man. If I spent my time comforting another friend, there was no end to the maltreatment or arguments I endured. I gave him money, groceries, rides, and other trinkets when he needed or asked for them, never asking for anything in return. I do not hold this against him, as I gave of my own free will. We had a purely platonic relationship for years. We had arguments and make ups, and people referenced us as being part of the other. We would eat from both our plates while not even noticing: he'd take my onions, I'd take his tomato, he'd slide me some veggies, and I'd slip him some of my salmon filet, all in the midst of conversations about movies, tv shows, sports, or whatever was trendy at the moment. When he was in the hospital, I stayed to take care of him, carrying him to the bathroom and back, helping to bathe and change him, keeping him company so he wasn't alone. He is the closest thing to a husband that I have had at this point in my life. Sadly so.
The one thing that was always made plain during our arguments, where he would say incredibly cruel things, holding ridiculous things against me for years, even hitting me with a car door during one of them, was that we were both in the friendship for different reasons. I was in it because I loved my friend. He was in it because he felt entitled to my friendship and all I had to offer. He didn't know how, nor did he care to love me, even as a friend, in return. It took me a long time to learn that not everyone cares in the same way, or even at all. That some people are detached, and do take advantage of those that care about them. My friend did that. I don't hold it against him, as I think that the only way he knows how to care is selfishly so. I don't want him in the same room with me, though. I've learned my lesson there. It took 20 years, but I learned.
After a lesson so thoroughly learned, I thought that I would be able to see another selfish man that is unable to care about anyone from a mile away. Not so. I realize now that I was making the same mistake with the fighter, who wrapped me around his finger, kept looking down on what I had to offer, though he greedily took all of it. He offered compliments when he saw fit, but increasingly told me where I needed to improve. I ate it up, feeling that he was investing in me, and the few compliments he would give were timed precisely when I needed them, and kept me going to him. I don't blame him for my actions in this, either. I am a grown woman, and I know better than to allow a man to tell me what my value is as a woman. Where I do blame him, as I do my friend, is that after the fact, it turns out that while I had put myself to be in a position to be defined in reference to them, they would barely have me be a footnote to them.
I am not a footnote, a citation, or even a sidenote. I am story, a mixed up, enchanting, charismatic, and endearing love story. If a man isn't ready to give in to me, I need to stop giving up to them, even in situations of friendship.

Step Away From The Ring...

I didn't throw a punch. I held up no white flag. I never even shit in his yard. I just stepped away from the ridiculousness.
I don't know why it took me this long to remember who I am, what's important to me, and what I have found worth fighting for since I was old enough to have an opinion (read: the womb). I have always been a righteous babe, fighting for women's rights, for what I love about this country, about my culture, my faith, my family, and most importantly, what I love about myself. I am not a failure. I am a gorgeous, loving, generous, adorably imperfect, intelligent, sexy minx. I am fabulous AS IS. Anyone wanting to continuously point out my faults, not willing to shower me with unconditional love, and trying to change me to suit their wants and needs can step off.
How it took me a year to recognize how badly I was being manipulated, I have no idea. I guess I just didn't want to be alone anymore, and what was offered on the surface cleverly hid the torrents beneath. The thought of a life without having to work, the ability to travel to exotic places, the prestige of marrying a celebrity, and even the independence of the vast time alone I would have all seeped in to clog my sanity. It didn't hurt that I cared about the guy. What did hurt was him. I felt worthless more times than not. His focus on my body was humiliating, always asking what I had lost, and telling me I could do more if I just stopped eating much at all, and started going to the gym twice what I was. Fifty pounds in 10 weeks was what he expected. He also pounded into my head that his life expectancy was short, but would make a point of telling me he didn't trust me enough to tell me what the exact problem was. He even told me that I wasn't a woman yet, and that he was training me to be one properly. It was the point when he told me that he would never let me around his animals because they would never be cared for by someone as horrible as me, that I cried for days. I let him reason his way through why it is okay to force someone to eat meat, to lose weight, to move away from their home and family, and to hit them, before I took a step back and realized that he goes against EVERY SINGLE FUCKING THING I BELIEVE IN. The longer I stooped to be with him, the less I respected myself. Then it hit me. I'm much more valuable than anything he has to offer. He isn't worth it. No man is worth that.
I am a very lucky and blessed girl. I have been saying all this time that I just needed to see it through. I needed to let this relationship with the fighter come to whatever natural conclusion that it was due. And it did. I am very lucky to have come out of it unscathed and unbattered. He never got a chance to lay a hand on me in anger, and for that, I count my blessings. Now, as I block him from what I can, and find ways to save pertinent messages in case he decides that he would still like to deal with me - so that I have some defense, I realize that I have been reminded of one of the biggest dating lessons of all: the most important love affair you'll ever have is with yourself. Keep it true, and keep it healthy. If you're not able to love you, no one else will either.

I Would Rather Feel Worthwhile.

I mess up. All the time. I generally just pick myself up, laugh a bit, make the best of it, and move on. I'm not used to having to be responsible to someone else's ideals when I create small disasters. I'm not used to feeling less than fabulous because of someone's opinions on what I should've done.
I know we all make judgements all the time. It is our nature. We choose our friends and loved ones based on judgements of their actions towards us and others. I have stopped dating men before not because they were horrible to me (no, for some reason I kept those men around), but because of how they treated people in the service industry. These judgements are the way that we surround ourselves with people with the same values, and people we feel we can learn from. I recognize that, and believe that process is important to our well being.
When those judgements become a daily feeling of failure rather than a way of seeing if you're the right piece for that jigsaw puzzle, it takes on a whole new meaning. Lately I've been feeling as though I can do nothing right. It has been brought to my attention that I have a temper, so I have been trying to work on that. When in the midst of a text conversation that was extremely upsetting, I decided to stop responding, sleep on it, and then write back, lest my temper flare and I hear, once again, how I am more like a petulant child than a grown woman. I was then told that by not responding until the next day, that I was rubbing salt in the wounds. I really messed up with my new cats. I mistakenly thought that I had a few months to get them fixed before anything would happen. My female cat is now pregnant with inbred kittens. I am literally living with an abomination. But what can I do? My cats, while disturbing, are adorable. The kittens will be, too. They may end up being deaf, or have horrible depth perception and walk into walls and stuff, but they'll be super cute and lovable. Her pregnancy belly is beautiful. The harm has been done. I am making the best of the situation. I have been doing okay with the situation and consequences until I had to tell my fighter. His reactions have not been as kind, forgiving, or supportive as mine are to him when he loses yet another fight, or deals with his heatlh conditions. I know he believes he is helping me to learn to not make these mistakes again, but it makes me feel so worthless at times. I still feel like I am growing by learning from him, but when will he learn from me?
I have always wanted a man strong enough to deal with me, but that doesn't mean I want a man that makes me feel weak. Well, maybe in the knees, but that's a different story.
Until I figure this out, I've decided that I may still need to see what my other options are. Or at least have some fun.